


Jim

by Fanfreluche



Series: Dresden - Montana - Berlin [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Seventies, Angst, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, between John and other men, explicit for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 12:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanfreluche/pseuds/Fanfreluche
Summary: Summer of 1979. Arthur is introduced to a boy with a unique voice.





	Jim

**Author's Note:**

> Explicit rating is for language. No smut, just loads of angsty pining.
> 
> Age of consent is 16 in Montana, which is reflected in the way the characters behave.
> 
> Background music is in italics.

“He’s my boyfriend.” 

“Your boyfriend?”

“Mhm.”

The police officer looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at the police officer. They both turned to look at the girl. Arthur turned to the police officer and smiled. 

“I’m her uncle.”

“Uncle? Why is she in residential care if she has an uncle?”

“Uh… Cause I’m-”

“Cause he’s a no-good slacker and-”

“Look here, missy, I don’t know just what you were up to with those troublemaking delinquents, but you sure as hell don’t look fifteen and this fellow here doesn’t look like nobody’s uncle. I can’t let you go unless an official representative of the school comes to get you.”

“Why don’t you call them?” Arthur suggested, eyes brightening up. “Tell them I’m here to pick her up on their behalf. They know me.”

“Nooooo!” Abigail’s whine was muffled when her bubble-gum bubble burst and her mouth and nose were covered in pink.

The officer sighed, picked up the handset and began dialing, spoke to someone on the phone, nodded, huffed and put down the handset with a clang. 

“Well, you can go this time, but I don’t want to see your face in this town again till you’re of age. Next time it’s the detention centre for you, got it?” 

Arthur thanked the kindly officer and promised her the girl would behave from now on, turned towards Abigail to receive her word for emphasis but she was already out of the door. 

“Just what were you doing with those boys?” He questioned her, closing the car’s door. “What’s with all the makeup? You’re what, ten?”

“Twelve!” She protested and ignored the other question, frowning as she added: “The whole point of calling _you_ was so that they won’t call the sister! I’ll be grounded...”

“Good.” 

He started the vehicle and set it into motion.

“What did you lift this time?”

“Just a few snacks, nothing major.”

“You should stop, Abi… It’s a bad habit, might not be able to shake it off later.”

“Aye, sir!” She grinned and put on his sunglasses though the sun had almost set. “I’m hungry, Uncle Arthur, buy me some food, please, pleeeeaaaase...”

Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled. “If you promise to give my glasses back.”

They pulled up outside Valentine’s and took a seat in a booth adjacent to the window. Arthur ordered a cup of joe for himself and Abigail a hamburger, fries, milkshake and two slices of cherry pie, all of which she had finished by the time they left the diner, but it was some time before that happy hour could come. 

“So, this makes how many times you’ve come to save me?” Abi began counting on her slim fingers, but jumped out of the booth abruptly and ran towards a jukebox she had just seen to put some music on. Soon she was hollering what a mean woman she was along with Janis Joplin, meaning menfolk no good and all that...

Heh, woman indeed, Arthur thought, exhaling a sigh as he eyed the silly child singing and dancing her way to the booth, her gestures almost comical in their lack of seductiveness. He had a soft spot for her, couldn’t help it, ever since he had caught her stealing cigarettes from his car a year or so ago.

He thanked the waitress for the coffee and blew on it, deciding he should try to make conversation while they waited for the food if he didn’t want to be serenaded throughout the meal. 

“So, you like Joplin?”

“Oh yeah, she’s my hero! Gonna be like her,” Abi explained excitedly. “I’m learning to play the drums, gonna be a rockstar.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, sipping some coffee. “Why a drummer?”

“Cause it’s so cool! Gonna be the best woman drummer,” She sipped some strawberry milkshake through the rouge stained straw, still mumbling the song. 

“Who’s teaching you?”

“Brother Dorkins.”

“Really? Just how many instruments can the guy play?”

“Uh, three... I think?”

“Well, what do you know…”

“They seem to be good people,” He continued after another sip. “Are you happy there?”

“I’d be happier if it was just me and Jim and Brother Dorkins and Sister Calderón. Rest of ‘em can go to hell for all I care.” 

“Who’s Jim?”

“Oh, Jim is awesome!” A big grin spread across her thin face. “I’ll introduce you. But yeah, I’m fine, don’t you worry about me, Mister Morgan.” 

The girl was up again in a second to put on a new song. They talked a bit more about the school, or her absence from school, with Arthur trying his best not to come off as some sort of condescending adult, but couldn’t help giving her a few advices, which she probably wouldn’t take anyway. Once the food arrived, there was no more talking, and he watched in wonder how the girl wolfed down everything, only stopping to change songs.

“So,” Abi began, stuffing her mouth with pie. “Heard you’ve been dating that Gillis girl again?”

The words caught him off-guard, not because it was anything new, quite the opposite. Recently he kept being asked the same question. He smirked and relaxed in his seat, cup cradled in his palm. 

“Sure, gonna marry her.”

“You’re lying!” Half of the pie morsel dropped from Abi’s mouth onto her lap. 

“Nah.”

“You can’t marry her!”

“Why not?” 

“Cause she’s no good for you! You need somebody-” She had to pause to swallow the other half.

“Don’t we all?”

Damn, it was fun teasing the girl, who kicked his shin from under the table with her platform heel in retaliation. Ouch.

“She’s rich, Arthur! Rich girls don’t make good wives, don’t you know that? Lord, you’re so stunned sometimes...” She sounded like a tiny aunt now. “You need someone who can take care of you and the ranch.” 

“Oh?” He raised a wicked eyebrow. “You know someone like that?”

“Six years!” She pointed six sticky fingers at him animatedly. “You only have to wait _six_ years!”

“Six years is a looooong time. I could have five little children by then, _ten_ if they’re twins, _fifteen_ if they’re triplets!”

Suddenly she started singing out loud to ‘Cry Baby’, to drown his voice presumably, using an upside down salt shaker as a microphone, splashing salt all over the place, eventually ending up on the table. And Arthur, the adult that he was, joined in with the pepper shaker as they dared each other to cry, louder, apparently.

They were kicked out. 

Arthur was expecting to be presented with a full-blown concert while they drove to the group home/school, but with her stomach full, Abigail was too sleepy to sing and fell asleep. She woke up as soon as he had parked the car. They argued a bit when he refused to let the girl go in alone, determined to return her to someone’s custody before leaving. She acquiesced finally, well, had no choice otherwise. It was completely dark when they got out of the vehicle and headed towards the building.

_I am a brisk lad, but my fortune is bad_  
_And I am most wonderful poor..._

A raspy voice. Nothing special about it, but it had a strange effect on Arthur. The very moment he heard it, accompanied by the gentle melody of an acoustic guitar, he was outright transfixed. 

_O’ indeed I intend my life for to mend,_  
_And to build a house down in the moor, my brave boys…_

“Hush, it’s Jim!” Abi pushed him back before he could turn the corner and see the owner of the voice.

_My father he do keep fat oxen and sheep_  
_And a neat little nag on the downs…_

She held a finger against her lips and motioned for him to wait, both of them standing with their backs against the wall now.

_In the middle of the night when the moon do shine bright_  
_There’s a number of work to be done, my brave boys..._

“He’s shy, won’t play for strangers,” She whispered.

_Then I’ll ride all around in another man’s ground,_  
_And I’ll take a fat sheep for my own..._

He had heard the voice before. Long time ago. Or so it seemed to him as he continued listening, breath held, an odd sensation fluttering in his belly. At the same time he felt conflicted as to whether he should leave, as if by staying he would be violating the sanctity of a glade where no mortal being was admitted to. 

_When the constable do come, I’ll stand with my gun..._

Tasting copper in his mouth, he realised he had bitten his lower lip and unclenched his teeth.

_And swear all I have is my own..._

Although Abigail tried to keep him back, a yet stronger pull held control over his feet as they began moving towards the corner just as a new song began.

_It’s coming down to Manchester to gain my liberty,_  
_I met a pretty young doxy and she seemed full of glee…_

The voice abruptly came to a halt and there was a grating ring when the boy’s fingers crashed against the guitar strings in shock as he jumped up from his perch on the steps and stared at him with hostile eyes. 

“Jim, hey! This is Arthur Morgan, the friend I told you about.”

Long hair black as a raven covered most of his face. Eyes so deep you could fall into them and never emerge. Their darkness so vast you could wander forever and never reach any borders. 

“Arthur, this is Jim Milton, my boyfriend.”

A sharp sting pierced his chest. He looked absently at Abi who had wound her arm around the boy’s, then back at the boy.

“He is nineteen.”

“If you’re nineteen why’re you still hanging around?” 

It was harsh, his tone. He didn’t even know why, but he felt furious all of a sudden, like he wanted to punch the boy, or…

“He’s working here now,” Abi explained. 

The boy remained silent, glaring.

“What happened to your face?”

Again harsh. Maybe even more brutal than before when complemented with a smirk as he motioned at the scars criss-crossing the lad’s face.

“Stop bullying him, Arthur!”

“He’s got a tongue, ain’t he? Can’t you speak for yourself, boy?”

Throughout the verbal exchange with the girl his eyes never left the boy’s.

“Come, Jim,” Abi pulled him inside. “Don’t know why he’s being a jerk. Isn’t like this usually…” 

Arthur followed them, unasked. He was supposed to deliver the girl to Sister Calderón, he reasoned with himself. The interior was mostly dark, but light splashed into the corridor from the sister’s office, as well as the sound of music. Santana’s ‘Black Magic Woman’, if he wasn’t mistaken. And the distinct smell of weed, good weed…

“Sister!” Abigail shrieked in delight to see the nun swaying to the music while smoking. 

“Oh, so kind of you to bring her home! Thank you, my son!” 

She was all smiles when she approached him and offered him the joint which he refused, after casting a look at Jim and hearing the sister saying that he wasn’t allowed to have any since he’d stolen half her stash only a day ago. The sister then shooed the boy and the girl out and turned to Arthur, gaze stern.

“How much was the bail?”

“It’s nothing,” He half-smiled, looking down.

“Oh, come now! How many times has it been already?”

“Just see it as my contribution to the school… Please.”

“You’re a good man, Mr Morgan.”

“Nah,” He shook his head. “Far from it, sister…”

Before she could sit him down and get a confession out of him, Arthur excused himself and left, lingering outside for a bit, then shaking his head and leaving, only to discover just as he had got into the car that the boy was watching him from a window on the second floor. It would not be the last time he saw him. A couple of days later, one afternoon when he was watering the plants in the living room, Arthur heard a knock on the front door. The boy didn’t even say hello when he invited him in, just wandered about like a lost pup, sniffing his way around the room.

“Brought these back,” Jim explained, placing the sunglasses Abi had apparently nicked on the coffee table. “Do you have an Atari?”

“A what?”

Jim shrugged and picked up Uncle’s banjo, propped against a corner.

“Yours?”

“No, it’s Uncle’s.”

“Your uncle lives with you?”

“He’s not my uncle…”

“Why do you call him uncle then?”

“Ah, it’s complicated…”

The boy stared at him like he was mad, before sitting down on the couch arm and beginning to play some jazzy tune, surprisingly good. So good in fact that Arthur had to turn his focus away from the plant whose leaves he was just then caressing with great tenderness, raise his head and stand watching him.

“You’re real gifted, kid.”

“Ain’t a kid.”

“You’re a kid, kid.”

He reached with his free hand and ruffled the boy’s already messy mop. His hand was swatted away. 

“Don’t do that ever again!” Jim snapped. “Said I ain’t a kid, turned sixteen last month.”

“Thought you were nineteen.”

“I saw you.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Saw me?”

“With that guy, behind Trelawney’s. Kissing, weren’t you?”

Arthur bristled, wondering if the kid wanted to blackmail him. Well, tough luck. “So? How’s that any of your business?”

Jim hesitated and murmured something.

“What? Speak up!” 

“Said I’m the same!” The boy barked back.

“What do you mean you’re the same?” 

Of course he knew what the boy meant, but didn’t want to understand it, it was too sudden, there would be repercussions.

Jim blushed and lowered his head and Arthur felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over his head. He put down the watering can and approached the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder, but hadn’t counted on the fact that on doing so he may want more.

“I’m sorry, Jim… Do you want to talk about it?” He asked softly, squeezing his shoulder, partly to keep his hand from travelling to the boy’s face and stroke his scars. “If you need someone to talk to-”

Right at that moment they were interrupted by Uncle’s singing voice bursting in before his naked figure, wrapped in an orange flimsy towel, as grooving he slinked into the living room.

“Don’t need to talk about anything...” The boy suddenly spoke and a moment later had rushed out of the door. 

“Copa… cabana?” Uncle looked confused. “Heeey!” 

Arthur brushed past the old man none too gently and ran outside, catching Jim just as he was about to mount his bicycle. 

“Wait!” He grabbed the bike’s handle. “Let’s talk in my room.”

It was probably a bad idea. No, not probably, definitely. He was about to suggest the kitchen, when Jim responded. 

“Okay.”

He followed him quietly to his new bedroom. Arthur watched him inspect the room, quick black eyes darting left and right, up and down, until they came to rest on a piece of black suit neatly draped on the bed.

Jim whistled and approached the suit, touching its sleeve. “You a businessman?”

“No, it was borrowed, for the funeral.” He further explained when the boy looked at him questioningly: “My father passed away last week.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward silence during which Arthur walked to the window and opened it.

“So… You own this place now?”

Well, that wasn’t the sort of condolence he had expected, but it somehow made him even more interested in the strange boy.

“Yeah.”

He looked impressed. Black eyes widened. 

“Planning to sell it though,” Arthur added, leaning against the window edge, facing Jim.

“No!” He had never seen him so agitated. “You shouldn’t.” Or embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“Cause, it’s… I dunno, it’s nice?”

“This dump?” Arthur chuckled.

“It ain’t a dump.” The boy objected while rummaging through his vinyl records, placing one in the player. “I like it.”

“Why should I care if you like it?” It was back again, the cruel edge that he couldn’t quite control.

Jim shrugged and began dancing to The Doors’ ‘Hello, I Love You’, slowly, shyly.

Shyly at first and then growing bold.

Bold enough to look into his eyes, now to smile. 

Smile so subtle you could almost miss it. Mesmerising. 

“It’s John.”

“What?”

“My name. John Marston.”

“Why Jim?”

“Hendrix.”

“Milton?”

“Milton.”

“Poet?”

He nodded.

Approached him, chin tilted upwards like he already owned the place.

He was so close now. So close he could feel the heat radiating off his slender body as he stood between his slightly spread legs. He inhaled deeply, his scent not reaching him, so he had to lean closer, shifting forward as his hands pressed against the window sill which was now digging into his palms. 

“How do you know Milton?”

“Sister Calderón reads him sometimes.”

“Does she?”

“Yeah… Gonna set it to music. Divine punk.”

“You’re something, ain’t you, Jim-John Milton-Marston...”

The boy laughed. It was the first time he heard him laughing. And just like that he was gone, at the vinyl player’s side again, putting another record on.

Morrison sang of a beautiful friend.

The boy went towards the bed, shoved the suit onto the floor, replaced it with his own body, fingers fumbling with his jean’s button and zipper.

Arthur only snapped out of his trance when he saw the boy pulling out his prick and begin stroking it. He was upon him in a second, clasping his arms as he pulled him up from the bed.

“What do you think you’re doing!?”

John just stared at him, hands fallen limply at his side.

Morrison promised limitless freedom.

And Arthur dragged the boy outside the house and threw him out, closing the door behind him. Then stood in the middle of the living room, bewildered, panting, before heading to the shower. He needed to get ready for Mary’s party. 

He arrived late at the party. He usually did, seeing as he didn’t like parties that much. And this one specifically. Since Mary had returned from college rumours were materialising about how they were seeing each other again. He didn’t know why, could be just a bored town’s way of coming up with any story to amuse themselves, but he didn’t like the implications, especially if it meant he had to end up in situations where he couldn’t say no, such as being invited to a party he didn’t want to go to.

“Arthur!” 

Mary was smiling, as usual, as she hugged him, drew him inside, introduced him as his highschool sweetheart to her new friends, who giggled and cooed and poured him a glass of sickeningly sweet punch, before pulling him to the dance floor where he was requisitioned by Mary again. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Arthur…” She said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as they danced to the popular Kiss song that had come out only a few months ago.

“Hasn’t been that long.” He chuckled, looking into her big pretty eyes, then at the beauty mark and back. “What, two weeks?”

“Three!” She corrected him and began chanting with almost half the room how they were made for loving each other and so on.

He smiled. Once upon a time he had thought that too, would have sang it with her perhaps. But that was about a decade ago. Many things had happened in-between, to her as well as to him. And while he enjoyed spending time with her as a friend, he had begun to find excuses to stay away when he realised she might still be having feelings for him. As for him... There was, to use the singers’ words, something else entirely that drove him wild at that particular moment...

Black hair. Messy. Half-hidden scars. Lanky figure. 

“I’ve been thinking, Arthur... Maybe we should give it another try. What do you think?”

“Beg your pardon?”

He wasn’t alone. There was a man with him. Much older. Leering.

“I said I think we should… Oh, for Christ’s sake!” She stopped dancing, pushed him back.

He remained dazed before rushing after the boy and the man. 

Arthur didn’t think about what he was doing. As soon as he saw the man hunched over the boy, he grabbed him by the neck and pulled him back, punched him in the face. The man staggered backwards, but he was larger than Arthur and it didn’t take him long to bounce back, pounce on him, the two of them grappling for a while, until the man, seeing that he was losing, clutched at a bottle, smashed it and lunged with its jagged remnants at Arthur, who retreated swiftly and counterattacked with a hard fist aimed at the man’s diaphragm, then an uppercut to the jaw, knocking him out, probably breaking all his teeth.

“What are you doing!?” John shoved him hard as soon as the man was down.

Arthur tried to wipe the blood off his chin but only managed to make a bigger mess. He glared at the boy, fiercely enough to scare him apparently since he piped down for a moment. Grew timid.

“That guy is old enough to be your dad. What do you think he wants from you?”

He stepped back into the living room as he spoke, avoiding Mary and her cluster of cackling friends. The boy followed.

“I know exactly what he wants from me,” John hissed, pluck recovered. “I want it too, and it’s none of your business.”

Arthur stood, turned around to look at him, blood dripping from his chin onto his T-shirt. Peggy Lee was singing how Juliet returned her beau’s feverish feelings… He wasn’t so sure she could be trusted to know what she wanted.

“You want him?”

“Him, anyone, who cares!”

“Why?” He grabbed the boy’s shoulders and held him still, gazing into his eyes. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s just sex, for fuck’s sake! You think I haven’t done it before?” He wriggled out of his grip. “Told you I ain’t a kid…”

Arthur eyed him a bit, not sure quite how to feel. Pity, rage, sorrow?

He sighed at length and averted his eyes. Then headed for the door, was out and in his car, only to realise he had company.

“Take me back,” John said as he hopped into the convertible, uninvited. 

Arthur ignited the engine.

“To your place.”

He waited for a moment before speaking: “I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Don’t matter.”

They drove in silence until Arthur couldn’t hold back anymore. 

“You’re a remarkable person, John. You should take better care of yourself, be with someone who cares for you.”

“Woah, you’re one old-fashioned dude, ain’t you?” He chuckled and lit a cigarette he’d taken from the dashboard compartment. “Besides, I ain’t nothing special.”

“You’re blind.”

“And you’re not?” His gaze was fixed on him now. “So, tell me, what’s so special about me, huh?”

“Your voice.” He said without thinking.

The boy burst out laughing then suddenly went quiet before speaking matter-of-factly: “Why don’t you be that someone?”

“I told you-”

“Spare me the bullshit when your dick’s hard!”

“It’s not, don’t, you idiot…” He pushed the boy’s hand away when he tried to grab his crotch. “Look at me, John. I… You are important to me. I haven’t figured out why, but that’s how it is. You’re too young, and...” 

Arthur paused. He couldn’t very well tell the boy how there was so much he didn’t like about himself and that he didn’t want his encounter with John to be one of them. Let alone the thought that the boy might come to hate him one day for acting like the other assholes he had come across so far.

“I don’t want to regret this.”

He turned to look at him, one eye on the wheel, one on the boy, who seemed to be contemplating something.

“Okay,” John said finally. “I don’t get you, but okay.”

They didn’t speak for the rest of the trip and didn’t talk much at home either. He let John disinfect the scar on his chin and put a plaster on it - apparently the boy felt guilty - and growled low in warning when an almost chaste kiss was stolen from his lips. 

Arthur felt strange about putting John up in his late father’s room, so he let him sleep in his own room while he went to sleep in his father’s room. He had never liked that room, so it took him a while to fall asleep and he woke up rather late in the morning. The boy was gone, had taken some of his T-shirts and records and other stuff and left him an IOU note that read ‘400 fucks’...

Coffee time. Arthur walked to the kitchen. Only to be confronted by the image of an old man in nothing but a pink apron prancing about and singing in praise of Rasputin while cooking breakfast. He wasn’t even surprised anymore. Heck, he even joined in. Why not? After all, gone cat that he was, he did have a few dance moves up his sleeve he had learned from a Russian lover and had never really had a chance to show off.

_Hey, hey, hey, hey…_

The invigorating dance over, and Uncle’s jaw dropped as low as his balls, Arthur felt high-spirited again, gulped down his coffee and went to see to the ranch, determined to go through everything that needed fixing and make an inventory of all the items he needed to buy, which he spent most of his money on a few days later when he had gone to town to do the necessary shopping and to tell the estate agent that he no longer wished to put up the property for sale. 

On his way out, he passed by a musical instrument shop and his attention was grabbed by a nifty electric guitar sitting behind the window. It was too expensive, but the shopkeeper had a second hand one which looked nice and he would sell it to him with all the required equipment for a fair price. Arthur bought it once they had agreed on the installments and arranged for it to be sent to one ‘Jim Milton’ to an address he wrote down, with a note that he placed in a sealed envelope and slipped between the guitar bars. 

“I’ll give you your birthday present once you’ve learned to play it like your namesake,” It read.

A day later, the hardly legible answer was delivered into his bedroom window on a paper airplane: “Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspirational/featured songs:
> 
> Turtle Blues - Janis Joplin  
Cry Baby - Janis Joplin  
The Sheep-stealer - Ewan MacColl (there are other versions, but I recommend this for the mood)  
The Manchester Angel - Ewan MacColl  
Black Magic Woman - Santana  
Copacabana (At the Copa) - Barry Manilow  
Hello, I Love You - The Doors  
The End - The Doors  
I Was Made for Lovin’ You - KISS  
Fever - Peggy Lee  
Rasputin - Boney M.
> 
> For the Russain dance, Arthur comes in at 1:20:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0fTVnhg7S0


End file.
